


I Was Sitting There Waiting

by MysticPuma



Series: Sherlock One-shots [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Arguing, Consecutive Relationships, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 18:36:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysticPuma/pseuds/MysticPuma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I was sitting there waiting in my room for you." – Skillet, The Older I Get</p>
<p>Sherlock sits in his room, contemplating his feelings after a fight with John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Was Sitting There Waiting

Sherlock heard the door slam downstairs.

"John…?" he called feebly. He lifted his arm and gently touched the place on his cheek where John's palm had collided with it, before he'd stormed out. It had hurt, yet the warmth emanating from it wasn't just pain.

John had been upset. His latest girlfriend had ended it with him, complaining (yet again) about his lack of commitment to her; he often had to bail out of dates because of a case. Despite the fact he was only marginally upset about it, Sherlock had tried to comfort his friend.

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"Don't worry, John. She wasn't worth it anyway. You won't be single for long." He'd said, placing a hand on John's shoulder. Apparently, he'd said something wrong though, because John threw Sherlock's hand away roughly, standing and spinning around to face him.

"What the hell are you implying, Sherlock?!" he'd bellowed. Sherlock held his hands up defensively.

"Nothing, John. I was simply-" he was cut off by John's angry yelling.

"Saying I'm a slag! That's what you were saying!" he had continued.

"No! I just meant that…" but he stopped as John's hand swung around to slap him around the face, and all he could do was stand there, stunned and shocked, as John and turned and stormed from the flat.

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"What did I say…?" he asked himself. "I never meant that he was… Oh, god…" he let his head fall into his hands, and he walked into his room, slamming the door.

He sat on his bed heavily. How could he let this happen? Somehow, he always upset John, when he was only trying to help.

He knew for a fact that John hadn't really cared about this latest girl. What was her name? Jane? Janine? No… Who cared anyway? John had only really cared for the sex anyway.

Sherlock always found himself hating each new girlfriend progressively more. More than his usual dislike for passers-by due to his sociopathic nature. He truly hated them. Having them anywhere near him wasn't just annoying, not just an inconvenience, it was upsetting. But why?

Why did he deliberately wait until John was on a date to go hunting for a killer? Why did he always make him leave his dates early? Because he needed his help? No… he'd always managed fine before, so that wasn't it.

Hi cheset hurt. He held his hand to it. He felt sick too. He'd been fine before John had left. Was he feeling so terrible because he'd upset John? He'd researched this… It only really happened when someone you really cared about got upset at you. Did Sherlock care that much for John?

What a stupid question, of course he did. John was his best- his only friend. But was that really all it was? Yes. Yes, of course it was… How could it be more?

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John felt his hand collide with Sherlock's face. He'd just… Oh, god. He turned and ran from the flat as fast as he could, slamming the door in his hurry.

He walked quickly through the cold night air, taking deep breathes, trying to calm himself. Okay, so he'd slapped Sherlock… That was established. But why? Now that wasn't so simple. He could have sworn that in Sherlock's statement he'd heard "you're a slag". Granted, that hadn't exactly come out of his mouth, but the point still stood… It had been implied.

True enough, John had been through about six girlfriends in the last two months alone, but did that really make him a slag? Sure, John hadn't really cared about any of them emotionally… Did that make him a slag? He did it for the sex… Yes, that made him a slag.

Without realising it, John had found himself in the park. He sighed, sitting on a bench and letting his head fall into his hands. Why did he do this? Why did he get involved with women he didn't care about? He couldn't understand it…

Sherlock had been right. He was a slag.

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Sherlock could feel his hands shaking as he steepled them beneath his chin. His breathing was irregular and rough, his lips quivering. He'd never meant to upset John. He hadn't even meant that he was a slag. He knew John never meant to hurt anyone, and Sherlock didn't care anyway. Although, every time John brought someone home, he'd ignore them both, pretend to be buried in his experiments. But then he'd hear then, and his stomach would churn. He'd try and drown it out with his violin, but it wouldn't work. He'd still hear it. He'd go into his room and bury his head in the covers, with pillows over his ears. Nothing could get rid of the terrible sick feeling, or the pain in his chest…

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John had always assumed Sherlock didn't care. He'd bring someone home, and Sherlock would be so adsorbed in the research that it was like they didn't exist.

The next morning, Sherlock would be in the same position. But John never noticed that Sherlock was the slightest bit paler, and he had dark circles under his eyes. Nor could he see the torture deep behind the glassy surface of his eyes.

John though back over the argument… Sherlock had said he 'wouldn't be single long'. He'd protested when John had asked him what he meant. Had he really not meant it like that? As John thought it over, he mentally kicked himself.

"You fucking idiot." He muttered to himself. "He was trying to be sympathetic… He was really trying- oh, god… what have I done?" and he returned his head to his hands as a tear fell from his eye.

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Sherlock turned his mind to the last time John had announced his new girlfriend.

"Sherlock, I'm going out with Joanne!"

Joanne! That was the name!

"Oh, who's that?"

"She's from work…"

"Oh. Well, have fun."

He remember the sadness. The disappointment that John was going out with another girl…

And then earlier that evening, when he'd returned having been dumped by Joanne…

"How was it?"

"She dumped me…"

"Oh…"

Sherlock remembered the leap of happiness he had secretly felt. But he'd seen the dejected look on John's face. He'd stood, and gone over to try and comfort him. And, well… the rest is history, as they say.

He never cared about how other people felt…. Never. He'd been happy, and that should have been enough bu when he saw how sad John was… His happiness had meant nothing. He wanted John to be happy.

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John felt so stupid. Sherlock had tried to cheer him up, for the first time ever… And what had John done? He'd bloody shouted at him!

He looked up at the sky. No clouds tonight… The stars were sparkling and the moon was full. He suddenly wished Sherlock were with him, and he found his hand clutching at air.

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Should he wait for John to come back? Should he let him cool off? He ran his hands though his hair. Things were too quiet…

"Ooh, ooh!" came Mrs Hudson's call from outside the door. "Is everything alright, Sherlock? Is John not back yet?" Sherlock didn't answer, so she continued. "Can I come in?" Sherlock grunted, and she pushed the door open gently. "Oh, what's wrong dear?" she asked, sitting next to him, and touching his arm.

"I think I upset him…" Sherlock muttered. "He came back upset. I tried to comfort him, but I suppose I said something wrong…" Mrs Hudson had never heard the man so sad and uncertain.

"Why don't you go and find him?" she suggested.

"What if he's still upset with me?" Sherlock muttered. MRs Hudson suddenly felt like a mother assuring a teenager…

"If he knows you didn't mean it, he'll forgive you." She said. Sherlock turned to her, smiling, and pulled her into a hug.

"Thank you." He said. They went into the hall together, and Sherlock quickly got his coat and scarf on.

"Good luck dear!" Mrs Hudson called as he went out of the door hurriedly. She then proceeded to go to bed.

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John breathed on his hand, and rubbed them together. It was so cold… He sat back down, too scared to return to the flat. What if Sherlock was annoyed with him for being so stupid?

But then… Sherlock had never cared before… He never sympathised. He'd never said nice things to him before. He'd never cared when he'd broken up with Sarah… Or any of the others. So why…And he realised. Sherlock didn't want to see him sad… So he'd tried to – DAMN IT!

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Sherlock walked along the streets that he and /John would run through. Where would he be…? He thought a moment, and decided he'd try the park, it was quiet there. He stepped through the gate, and headed for the lake.

He saw a silhouette, sat with his head in his hands. As he got closer, he saw it was John. HE was shivering. He hadn't brought a coat.

"Here…" Sherlock muttered, removing his coat and draping it around John's shoulders. He sat next to him. "I'm sorry John. I was only trying to cheer you up. I suppose I made it worse."

"No, Sherlock." John said. "I misunderstood you. I never meant to… I never meant to hit you… I'm sorry." He looked up at Sherlock. "Thanks for the coat…" he added with a smile. Sherlock turned and smiled too.

"I hated to see you so down." Sherlock admitted, looking away again. His voice was quieter tha normal. "But to be honest, I was glad she'd dumped you…" he hated to lie. He didn't want to upset John, but lying to him was worse.

"I know." John muttered, with a light chuckle. "You never like them, so I understand."

"No, you don't." Sherlock stated.

"Oh?" John prompted. Sherlock gulped. This was not his strong point.

"When you bring them home… I pretend to be researching. I try to ignore it. Then when you're…" he coughed. "I play the violin, I cover my ears. I try anything to drown it out…"

"Oh god… I didn't realise. Sherlock, I'm so sorry." John stammered.

"I feel sick." Sherlock continued. "And my chest hurts." John looked up. "I don't understand, John… Why does it hurt?"

John looked out at the lake. The moon reflected in the shimmering water, surrounded by stars. Sherlock was looking down, wringing his hands together. John placed his hand on top of Sherlock's.

Sherlock's heart stopped, thanks to the electric pulse sent through his body from his hands. His head whipped up to look at John. He couldn't comprehend what was happening…

"What… Why does this…?" he couldn't finish.

"Why does it feel nice?" John finished for him. Sherlock nodded. "Because I only went out with all those women…" Sherlock flinched at the thought, "to escape my true feelings…" he whispered. Sherlock frowned at him,c onfused. John didn't look back. "I know… I though… It would never happen. That you'd never…" he tried to withdraw his hand, but Sherlock caught it.

"That I'd never…?"

"Feel the same." John breathed.

"And how do you feel…?" Sherlock asked.

"I- no. I won't." John insisted. "Because you won't understand." And he pulled his hand away, standing to walk to the edge of the lake. He left Sherlock's coat on the bench. He started shivering again.

"You're cold, John." Sherlock stated, taking his coat and offering it to John again. John pushed him away.

"Please, Sherlock…"

"John, I need your help!" Sherlock blurted out suddenly. John turned to him, shocked. Sherlock never needed help… Or if he did, he didn't admit it. Sherlock's face was filled with pain, and John found it impossible to ignore him. "I don't understand… Why does it hurt when you're with them? Why am I so happy when they break up with you? Why do I feel lost without you?"

John couldn't comprehend it… Sherlock really didn't understand… Did he dare believe that Sherlock could be… feeling?

"I don't know…" he lied.

"Yes you do. Please, John! It's killing me!" And that look of pain and desperation that filled his eyes nearly broke John's heart.

"I never thought you could feel… the way I feel."

"But how do you feel?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"I… I feel lost without you." Sherlock looked at him.

"That's how I feel… But what does it mean?"

"It means I… I love you… More than just a friend. I wanted to escape it. How could you ever feel that way?" John asked.

"But… I do. I must… How else do you explain it? I was… jealous of them…" he realised.

"You were jealous?" John asked.

"Of how close they were to you… I guess."

"You're… guessing?"

"I don't understand emotions, John… I deleted them a long time ago." Sherlock explained. "But it seemed they're… Coming back."

"Really?"

"Only with you. I don't feel anything with anyone else…"

"Well, at least I can't get jealous, huh?" John said with a smile and a quiet chuckle. Sherlock sniggered. "So… you?"

"Yes, I suppose… I love you, too…" he said. John's heart leapt. But he was still shivering. Sherlock wrapped his coat around John's shoulders. John looked at him and wrapped his arm around his skinny waist. A warmth flooded them both, as Sherlock let his arm fit snuggly around John's shoulders.

"Really?"

"Yes… I love you, John." He confirmed, planting a gentle kiss atop his head. "It's a beautiful night, isn't it?"

"Yes, the most beautiful night in a long while." John repled. Sherlock chuckled. "What?"

"So cheesy, John." He said, with a smile.

"It's one of those nights."

"I look forward to the poems, John."

John blushed. He'd forgotten that Sherlock had read all his old emails back when he'd actually cared about the girls he dated…


End file.
